


Petrichor

by sdwolfpup



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, In a way, Long-Distance Relationship, Magic Mirrors, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Portals, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26046490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwolfpup/pseuds/sdwolfpup
Summary: Petrichor: the pleasant smell of the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weatherA magical storm brings Jaime and Brienne into unexpected contact - sharing an apartment from worlds apart.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 143
Kudos: 364
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImberReader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImberReader/gifts).



> There will be thanks (AND BLAME) to hand out later. This was written in a mystic haze, but all mistakes and offenses are mine alone. Based off Imber's prompt: "1. A home with many rooms, furniture moving by itself, a grandfather clock’s ticking, and a cat staring out the window. [Cr to Witterprompts]" I didn't get the clock, but the rest is there, in the best way I could manage it for you, Imber.
> 
>  **ETA Post-Exchange Reveal:** At 1pm Saturday my time, Roccolinde reached out to me to see if I would still be willing to do a Knight Write and I said HECK YES. 20 hours later (including 5 hours of sleep), this fic existed. Thank you to BrynnMcK for the title and the hand-holding and encouragement; super special thanks to forbiddenfantasies and reading this thing as I threw random sections at her in my desperation to make sure it made any sense. I was a little loopy by the end of it. It was a joy and a delight to write for Imber, and I'm grateful to have had the chance. (But I still blame Roccolinde for everything.)
> 
>  **Extra ETA:** A very cool thing has happened and ms_dorothea has translated this story into Russian! You can read the Russian translation version [here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28426779/chapters/69658026) or [here on Ficbook](https://ficbook.net/readfic/10240763). I'm so chuffed, thank you again!

Thunder cracked like a whip against the windows, yanking Brienne out of sleep so fast she nearly fell out of bed. 

“What the-” the rest of her words were swallowed by another rumbling slam of thunder against the window. Brienne scrambled to her feet, suddenly afraid the glass would rattle so hard it would shatter down on top of her. 

It was pitch black outside, but the thunder continued, rolling into her bedroom window with the relentless force of ocean waves, so loud she was struggling to think over it. _Duncan_ was her primary thought. She needed to make sure he was okay, but the power was out and she couldn't see in the dark, didn't yet know her way around her brand new apartment. The thunder continued, unceasing, until the reverberations were an endless, vibrating loop. 

Brienne crouched by her bed, pressing her forehead into the mattress and desperately trying not to throw up. It was too loud, the storm felt like it was on top of their building – in her room itself. This was a storm worthy of the Stormlands at their worst. With a sudden, startled realization, she blinked around in the darkness. 

Where was the lightning? 

As if on command, the entirety of Brienne's bedroom burned white and the building shook like it was a toy in a giant's grasp, accompanied by a howling roar. It lasted long enough that she waited to feel the floor beneath her feet crumble ten stories to the ground below, and wished she had Duncan to hold onto. 

Then it went silent and dark and Brienne gasped out one loud, heaving breath into the stillness, barely able to see around the aftershock burned into her retinas, to hear over the echo of the thunder in her head. Her body felt fragile, as if anyone were to even brush against her, she'd fall to pieces. 

There was no one else in Brienne's apartment though, just her and her cat and the meager items she'd packed and brought with her to start her life over somewhere new. 

It was eerie, how quiet it was, after a storm of such magnitude. No car alarms going off, no sounds of any of the neighbors around her stomping or yelling or wondering what had happened. Faintly, she heard Duncan's meow, blinked and blinked again trying to see, to place where the noise had come from. She rubbed her ears until they popped, but the silence was still heavy in the room. 

“Duncan?” she whispered. Maybe everyone else was feeling the same oppressive energy in the air. 

The meow was louder, but this time she could follow it to the front room, where Duncan was sitting on the back of the couch, staring at the mirror. The white haze was fading, too, but not so fast she didn't crack her foot against the armchair she swore had been elsewhere. 

“Ow, shit,” she muttered, dancing in place. “Stupid chair.” Brienne shoved it back to where it belonged and crept closer to Duncan. “Psst, Dunc,” she whispered. 

The cat just kept staring at the mirror as though he hadn't even heard her. Her cat was huge and fluffy, so pale orange that he looked blonde in the sunlight, a loyal companion, and dumb as a box of rocks. 

“Duncan,” she said sharply, but he just kept staring as though mesmerized by his own reflection. Brienne blinked, finally able to make out details of her surroundings. There was nothing out of place besides the chair, at least. She climbed up on the couch and leaned on the edge next to her cat, following his line of sight to the mirror. 

In the reflection she saw her apartment, with the same furniture as provided by the landlord, but there was no sign of a cat, and instead of her own unfortunate face peering at her, there was a man's instead, wide-eyed and disheveled. 

Brienne screamed.

* * *

Jaime didn't have the air left in his lungs to yell himself, too breathless with shock at what looked like his apartment, but was filled with a cat and a woman he'd never seen before. He looked back over his shoulder, but they weren't there with him, just in the mirror. 

Well, the cat was. The woman had fallen off of the couch and run to what Jaime knew was the bathroom, assuming she was in his apartment. Her apartment. Wherever. 

“Hello?” he said. 

“Meow,” the cat responded. 

“What the fuck?”

“Mrow,” the cat agreed. 

“Don't move,” he muttered to the cat, before retreating cautiously to his own bathroom, nearly tripping over his armchair on the way. Jaime shoved it aside with a grunt and continued on his way. He opened the door and tried the lights, but the power was still out. “Hello?” he said softly. 

A woman's voice squeaked and then went quiet. Jaime peered inside, but the bathroom was empty. He saw movement in the mirror though, and a dizzying swirl of nerves and hope collided in his chest. Slowly he inched over, peering at the mirror until he saw her curled back against the wall of his-- her bathroom, her hands clapped over her mouth. When she saw him, her big eyes went impossibly wider. 

“Don't scream,” he said, and she froze. “What is happening?” 

The woman didn't move. She was tall, if her apartment was the same proportion as his, had thin blonde hair that was a messy nest around her head, and impressively well-muscled arms and shoulders. 

“Who are you?” he tried again.

Still nothing. Jaime wasn't even sure she was breathing. 

“I'm not a dinosaur, I can still see you even when you're frozen,” he said, grinning a little, and she didn't laugh, but she at least blinked. “You are alive, good.”

Her fingers trembled a little against her face, but she lowered them enough he could see more of her now: broken nose, thick lips, pale skin glowing even in the dark. Intriguing. 

“I'm Jaime,” he said, “and you appear to be in my apartment.”

“My apartment,” she said. Her voice was higher than he expected, but rich even sharply as the words were delivered. 

“Our apartment,” he allowed. “Who are you?”

“Brienne.”

“Nice to meet you, Brienne. Who's the cat?”

Her features smoothed immediately. “Duncan,” she said, in a much warmer voice. “He's mine.” There was a meow and the cat hopped up onto the sink. Jaime looked down at his own, but it was still empty. 

“This is weird,” he said, and Brienne nodded. 

“Where are you?” she asked. She picked up Duncan and clutched him to her broad chest. The cat seemed perfectly happy to be held that way. 

“Red Keep Apartments, King's Landing.” 

“Me too,” she breathed. “Is this a... video chat?”

“This morning it was a mirror.”

“Yeah.” Brienne reached out on her side, but it looked like she met glass, the pads of her long fingers flattening against it. “I'm in apartment 10-21.”

Jaime snorted. “No you're not.”

“I just moved in, I know what my apartment number is,” she said with an annoyed glare. 

“You better check again, cat lady. That's my apartment number.”

“I have _one_ cat, that doesn't make me a cat lady.”

“You are a lady, aren't you? With a cat?”

She made a disgusted noise in her throat. “You're still wrong about the apartment. I know my number; I had to change my address in a bunch of different places the last few days. It's burned into my brain.” 

“Except _I'm_ in 10-21, which means we live in the exact same apartment, but we can't see each other except through this mirror. Are you dead?”

Brienne gaped at him. “No! I have a cat. Why would a dead person have a cat? Are _you_ dead?”

Jaime felt his own pulse at his neck and shook his head. “Still alive.” 

Duncan shifted in Brienne's grip and she set him down. She really was enormously tall. “Was there a storm? Before you saw me?”

“Yeah, a big one.”

“Does there seem to be any other damage from it? Any of your neighbors up and about?” 

“No.” He'd run to the window in his living room when the storm had first passed, anxious to see if his new car had been damaged by falling debris or tree limbs, but outside looked exactly the same as it did every night. Jaime had started to look around his apartment for damage when he'd seen the cat in the mirror. “It didn't even rain. You?”

“My chair moved, but everything else seems fine.”

“My chair moved, too,” he said. 

“I need to sit down,” she said, sliding to the ground. Jaime stayed standing, peering down at her sitting against the back wall of his bathroom. Her bathroom. She pressed her forehead to her drawn-up knees.

“Hey,” he said, “don't pass out. I can't help you and I don't think your cat can dial emergency.”

Brienne huffed, but it sounded closer to a laugh than annoyance. “So am I in your mirror? Or are you in mine?”

“Good question. Can you leave your apartment?”

Her head jerked up. “I don't know, I haven't tried yet. Oh gods, I don't want to be trapped here.” 

“No one is trapped anywhere yet,” he said calmly, but he felt the first stirring of panic in his chest. Jaime had gladly set himself apart from his family, had picked this apartment for its size and view, but that didn't mean he wanted to be stuck here for the rest of his life with only a stranger to talk to. “Before anybody loses their cool, let's both go try and leave and then we can reconvene at the living room mirror, all right?”

Brienne nodded and stood with a smoothly powerful push of her legs. She was wearing loose shorts, and his eyes had adjusted enough he could easily make out the flex of her thigh muscles. 

“Front room mirror, five minutes,” she said, disappearing from his view. He turned his head to follow her progress out the door, but there was no one there but him.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Brienne was much less panicked, but much more weirded out. 

She'd left her apartment, and then her building, and everything had looked utterly normal. When she got back, there was Jaime looking anxiously in what used to be her mirror and was now some portal to what appeared to be a mirrored world. It was the same time of the same day of the same year, they discovered, and after a quick internet search discovered almost everything else was the same, too. 

Except she didn't exist in his world, and he didn't exist in hers. In his world, there were no Tarths. In her world, no Lannisters. 

“You got the better deal,” he'd muttered, when she'd told him that. 

“Your world is missing less,” she'd replied. “I'm the only Tarth left.” His handsome face had creased with sympathy, but Brienne had pushed on, asking more questions, until they both fell silent. 

“What do we do now?” Jaime finally asked. They were sitting in their respective armchairs, staring at their still-dark apartments. It was almost four in the morning. 

“Get curtains for our mirrors,” she said, and Jaime laughed, a tired, rolling rumble that reminded her of the thunder from earlier. 

“At least for the bathrooms,” he agreed. “Fuck.” He rubbed his hand down his face, to his bare chest, and Brienne tried very hard not to look any lower than that, no matter how much the curling line of hair that continued on was enticing her. 

“I should go to bed,” she said, and he nodded. 

“Yeah. Thank the gods it's Saturday.”

“Sunday now,” she said, standing. Duncan lifted his head from where he was curled on the couch and watched her with patient eyes. “Well. Good night, Jaime.” 

“Good night, Brienne,” he said, smiling up at her from the chair. “I look forward to being your new incorporeal roommate.” 

She was grateful she didn't have any mirrors in her bedroom as she climbed into bed and burrowed under the covers, hoping that when she woke this would all be simply a very bizarre dream.

* * *

It was not a dream. 

Jaime woke hours later to find Brienne watching TV in her apartment, the sound drifting into his. She was on her couch, her long legs curled up on the cushions. There would have barely been room for him, if they'd been in the same space. 

“Good morning,” he said, and she jumped in the mirror. 

“You're still there,” she grumbled, and Jaime smirked at her before going to the kitchen to get coffee. 

“What are you watching?” he called out. 

“Nothing,” she said quickly, shutting off her television. 

Jaime lifted an eyebrow. “That didn't look like porn.”

“It's not porn, gods,” she said, glaring at him from the back of the couch. “It was just a movie.”

“Then why'd you turn it off so fast?”

“Because it's none of your business. We're going to have to set some ground rules here, since this seems like it's going to be a thing even though it's daytime and the power is back on.” 

“All right, what sort of rules?”

“No spying on each other in the bathroom. You have to announce when you're entering in case the other person is in theirs.” 

“Fair enough.”

Brienne met his eyes through the mirror. “No making fun of each other. If we have to live together like this, we should be civil.” 

“This isn't a playground. I'm not going to call you names, no matter how ungodly tall you are.” 

She flushed, a deep, arresting red that flooded down the neck of her loose shirt. Jaime was fairly certain she wasn't wearing a bra, but that was definitely not appropriate to comment on. 

“You called me a cat lady,” she told him. 

“I called you cat lady, like a fun nickname.” 

“My name is Brienne,” she said firmly. 

“I know it is,” he said. His coffee pot dinged and he poured himself a cup, taking it to his own couch. His chair was out of position again, so he shoved it back to where he liked it, and Brienne gasped. 

“What did you just do?” she yelped. 

Jaime straightened, confused. “I guess I forgot to move my chair last night, I put it back in place.”

“My chair moved,” she whispered. “Do that again.”

He did, and then she did, too, and his chair moved by itself. Jaime's skin crawled at the sight. “That's fucked up.” 

“Move something else.”

They both did, for an hour, determining that only the things that had been furnished with the apartment seemed to have a connection. Anything they'd brought in themselves had no effect. Jaime was sweating from shoving the bed around when he collapsed back in his chair. It was not where he'd left it. 

“Stop moving my chair,” he groused. “I can't see the view from here.” 

“It gets in the way when I'm walking when you pull it out,” Brienne said. “I'd rather have the open space.” 

“Too bad, I was here first, the chair goes where I put it.”

“That's dumb,” she said, and Jaime snorted. “We'll just have to share. One week in my position, one week in yours.”

“ _That's_ dumb,” he said, petulant. 

“You're dumb,” she muttered. 

“I thought we were supposed to be civil.” 

Brienne made a face at him and turned away from the mirror. He stuck his tongue out at the back of her head, then got up and moved the chair to where he liked it. 

“Hey!” she said. 

“My week first,” he insisted. 

“I hope whatever this is ends quickly,” she said. 

“It can't be quick enough,” he agreed, throwing himself into the chair and glaring out at the bright blue sky.

* * *

It didn't end quickly. 

The first week, they managed not to annoy each other too much. It took only one near-miss on each of their parts to remember to announce their presence in the bathroom, and although sometimes Jaime listened to his music too loudly at night when he was working late, he'd turn it down when she asked so she could watch a movie and relax after a long day. 

“What do you do?” Brienne had asked him mid-way through the week when he'd come home and thrown his keys so hard on the counter they'd bounced and fallen to the ground with a loud jangle. 

“Architect,” he'd said. “But not a good one, according to my father.” He'd disappeared into the back after that and she hadn't seen him the rest of the night. 

The next morning he'd been calm and obnoxiously cheerful again. “What about you, cat lady? What do you do?”

“Editor for a publishing company,” she'd said. 

“Ah, so you're a failed writer.” 

Brienne had glared at him. “No, I'm an editor. I help other people create the best story they can.”

“If you say so. Too bad – this would make a wild story.” 

“I would never have accepted it,” Brienne had said. 

“Why not, not into fantasy?”

“No,” she's answered primly. “No one would believe anyone would put up with you even this long.” 

The second week went much worse than the first. 

It started on Saturday, when Brienne shoved the chair back to the spot she wanted it. Jaime had watched her, his eyes narrow and baleful, but hadn't said anything. When she woke up the next morning, though, the couch had been flipped entirely around so it was facing the mirror and not the TV. 

“What did you do to the couch?” she demanded when he shuffled out of his bedroom later. He always slept just in sweat pants, and it was unfair that he could be that annoying and attractive at the same time. 

“It's your week with the chair,” he said, his lips forming into a slim, victorious smile. “So it's my week with the couch.” 

Three days later, Brienne ran out of soap in the shower and pulled the curtain aside to grab more when she met Jaime's eyes in the mirror. He was brushing his teeth, and grinned at her with a foam-filled mouth. 

Brienne yanked the curtain over her bare chest and glared at him, furious. “You didn't announce you were coming in!”

“You were in the shower and I wasn't going to be long. I didn't know you were going to flash me.” 

“Get out!”

“I'm almost done.”

“Finish in the kitchen,” she demanded, and Jaime rolled his eyes. 

“It's not like there's much to see,” he said, and Brienne knew it wouldn't do any good but she threw her loofah at him anyway. It bounced off of the mirror and into the sink and Jaime laughed on his way out of the bathroom. 

The next day she hung a towel over her bathroom mirror, pleased when she heard him grumbling from beneath it. 

“You're no fun,” he said. 

“At least I'm polite.” 

“Oh yes, so polite with all that TV you watch while I'm trying to work.” 

She tugged the towel aside so he could see her frown. “Why don't you do more work in your actual office?”

“It's hard to concentrate there,” he said. As always when he talked about work, his whole body frowned: his shoulders slumped, the lines at his mouth dipped down, even his flashing green eyes dimmed, a cloud across the sun.

“Why don't we move the TV into the bedroom, then? I can watch in there while you work.” 

Jaime waved her off. “It'll be fine. You can just get some headphones or something.” 

“Why don't you get earplugs?”

“Why does it always have to be my problem to solve? I was here first.” 

It was the argument he always fell back on. “And I'm here now,” she responded as she always did. “We have to make the best of it.” 

“I have a date,” he said suddenly. 

“Okay,” she said slowly. “When?”

“Tomorrow night.” 

“Well you can't bring her home,” Brienne said, her heart fluttering with anxiety. “No one can know about this. What if they think you're crazy? What if they break the mirror and one of us disappears forever?” 

“I'm not bringing her home. I'm just telling you in case I'm gone all night. Or weekend.” He smiled, smug and beautiful, and Brienne tugged the towel back into place over his laughter.

* * *

Jaime barely made it through dinner. Lysa Tully was not at all his type, though given he'd never been in a relationship longer than a few months he was starting to think maybe he didn't have a type at all. He'd tried dating men, too, and that hadn't worked either. There was no one who was quite right; they all felt like trying to shove a wrong puzzle piece into place, and no matter how hard they tried, it would never work. 

He entered his apartment quietly, hoping to catch Brienne doing something unexpected. Nothing sexual – he was certain she would never leave her room again without being fully clothed, let alone decide to spend a night masturbating on the couch – but something besides sitting with her cat and watching the romantic movies she preferred. Something that made her a tenth as lively as when she was arguing with him. 

Sometimes when she was caught up in something else, Jaime would watch her, the way her broad face tended towards loneliness, her astonishing blue eyes towards sadness. The happiest she ever looked was playing with her cat. 

Tonight she was on the couch, takeout on their coffee room table, and she was watching a movie he'd already heard her watch twice before, just in the two weeks they'd shared this strange space. It was near the end, and he quietly observed her from the shadows as she wiped away tears when the male lead declared his love. The crying was new. Jaime grimaced, and crept in silence towards his bedroom, shutting the door softly behind him to leave her with her tears in peace.

* * *

A month into Brienne's very strange roommate situation, she and Jaime were spending a quiet Saturday in their apartments when there was a knock at the door. They both looked up towards their own, and then at each other in the mirror. 

“Are you expecting someone?” Jaime asked quietly, and Brienne shook her head. 

There was another knock, and an unfamiliar male voice called: “Jaime, I know you're there. You have less of a social life than I do, which is genuinely offensive given how you look. Let me in.” 

“Shit,” Jaime hissed. He looked at Brienne as he raised his voice. “Hold on, Tyrion, you caught me jerking off.” 

Brienne grimaced but laughed a little, too, shaking her head. 

“Hurry up, will you?” Tyrion said. “Think of Mrs. Mormont from eighth grade. That always works for me.” 

Jaime made a face and Brienne shoved her pillow in her mouth to keep from cackling. 

“You should go to your room,” he whispered low, and Brienne nodded. She did a quick survey, and while her apartment wasn't an exact match of Jaime's, there was nothing that stood out that would arouse suspicion. Duncan was sleeping in a pool of sunlight on the floor, but he was hidden by the couch from Jaime's perspective, so she left him. She tiptoed into her bedroom, leaving the door cracked open so she could hear what was happening. 

She heard Tyrion's voice more clearly. “That _was_ quick,” he said in dry, rich tones. “I told you she'd work.”

“I had another woman on my mind,” Jaime said. The sound of the door closing. “What are you doing here?”

“I haven't seen you in over a month, brother. You're usually not this good at avoiding me.” 

“I wasn't avoiding you, I've just been busy.”

“Mm.” Tyrion's disbelief was clear. “Why don't you ever decorate? If you insist on living way out here, you may as well enjoy it.” 

“The bay is my decoration. Did you just come here to harass me or did you want something?”

“I wanted to take you out for a meal, my treat, but perhaps I'll make you pay since you're being so rude.” 

Jaime laughed, and it sounded fond. Brienne wondered if his brother were as handsome as he was. “A meal sounds good, but we can split it since we'll inevitably annoy each other.” 

“Deal.”

“Good. Give me a minute to change and we'll go.” 

There was quiet for a few seconds until suddenly she heard Duncan's inquisitive, “Meow?” 

“Oh shit,” she whispered. “Not now.”

But Duncan, once woken, would search the entire apartment until he found Brienne, calling for her at progressively louder volume until he found her. 

“Mrow?” he said, a little more loudly. 

“Jaime,” Tyrion said, “did you get a cat?”

“What?” It was hard to hear Jaime, his voice muffled by the distance and the door. 

“A cat, I hear a cat.” 

“Meow!” Duncan pealed out and Brienne scrunched her eyes closed. 

“That was definitely a cat,” Tyrion said.

“I don't have a cat, it must have been the neighbor's. I'm almost done, just wait outside if it bothers you so much.” 

“Meow-mrow-mow,” Duncan said, making noise with each trotting step. 

“What in the seven hells,” Tyrion said. “There's a cat in your apartment. I see him! Or... I saw him?” 

“Sounds like you need to drink less,” Jaime said, sounding out-of-breath. “Come on, off we go.” 

“Jaime, I swear I saw a cat in the mirror there.”

“And then you looked and saw nothing of the sort in my living room? Don't admit that to father, he might finally throw you somewhere even you can't escape from.” 

“MEOW.” 

“Jaime--”

“Neighbor,” Jaime snapped, and she could imagine his glare from here where she was hiding behind the door. “Let's go, I'm starving.”

Tyrion was still mumbling about the cat when the door slammed shut. It was quiet, except for Duncan's ferociously loud inquiries, and Brienne opened her door all the way, peeking out. She could only see the edge of the mirror from here, so she army-crawled forward enough to get a look at Jaime's apartment. It was empty. 

Duncan appeared at the end of the hall and let out a loud, long, put-upon wail at having been temporarily abandoned, before bounding down and headbutting her in greeting. 

“You have the worst timing,” she told him, gathering him into her trembling hands. He purred contentedly against her chest.

* * *

Jaime managed to distract Tyrion enough that he only mentioned the cat one more time, as he was dropping Jaime back off after their meal. 

“Maybe it's a ghost cat,” Jaime had said before making spooky ghost noises that made Tyrion flip him off before driving away. 

When he got back to his apartment, Brienne's mirror was empty. “I'm alone,” he announced. “You and your dumb cat can come out.” 

The cat came trotting out from the hallway first and Brienne followed, looking sheepish. “Sorry,” she said. 

Jaime had been furious when they'd left, but seeing her now, chewing on her lip with genuine embarrassment, the damned cat on the couch and licking his own privates, Jaime could only laugh. “I guess cats really don't care about rules.” 

Brienne exhaled, and smiled more widely than he'd ever seen her. She wasn't attractive with the aggressively dour parts of her face all fighting for dominance, but when she smiled, the light that shown from out of those azure eyes lit all of her up in a palette as pink and cheerful as the sunrise. 

“I had an idea,” Jaime said, and he held up the box he'd forced Tyrion to stop so he could buy. 

“Chess?” Brienne asked, frowning. 

“Sure. You buy a matching set and we can play. We'll keep it on the coffee table so we can both see it at all times. No cheating.”

“I would never cheat,” she said, drawing to her full height in her offense. Brienne filled the room with all of her long, muscled body, and Jaime had the brief, inappropriate thought that she could get him off much faster than Mrs. Mormont ever could. 

“No offense meant, my lady,” Jaime said, throwing her a casual grin and shifting the bag in front of his lower body. “So go get a set and I can beat you fairly.” 

She did, and he did, and then he gladly accepted her challenge for a re-match a week later.

* * *

Six weeks into her new, weird roommate situation, one of Brienne's coworkers, Hyle, asked her out. It wasn't entirely a surprise; he'd spent the last couple of weeks stopping by her desk, asking about her work, and just generally being interested enough in her that when he asked she quickly said yes. 

“Great,” he said. “I'll pick you up Friday at your place?” 

“Sure,” she said, smiling a little, until she realized her place meant Jaime's place, too. 

“You won't even know I'm here,” Jaime promised when she told him about it that night. His lips were curled, but he didn't look happy. 

But when Hyle arrived Friday night, Jaime was nowhere to be seen, and with one last stroke of Duncan's fluffy body, Brienne left on her date. It was pleasant enough: Hyle took her to a mid-range restaurant and bought her dinner, and they talked long enough to stay for dessert, too, which she bought. When they'd finished, he checked his phone and then looked imploringly at her. 

“I don't suppose you have coffee back at your place,” he said, and Brienne understood what he really meant. 

It had been a long time since Brienne had taken anybody to her bed, and living near enough to watch but never touch Jaime, with his burnished skin and golden hair, his wide, white-toothed smile and glimmering eyes as sharp and watchful as a cat's, was turning into an exquisite kind of torture. Not that they would have touched even if they were truly roommates, but the distance made her fantasies of doing so somehow more real. The impossibility of it making it a dream she could have without shame. 

“Sure,” she said, thinking about how to warn Jaime that she was bringing Hyle home. While Hyle parked the car, she'd run up and tell Jaime, she decided, but Hyle found a spot right out front of her building and there was no good way to tell him no when he took her hand and led her inside. 

Saying a silent prayer, Brienne unlocked her door and immediately called out, “I'm home, and I've brought someone with me!” 

There was movement, and she thought she heard a door faintly close, but the only other living creature she saw was Duncan, who trotted out and meowed curiously at her. 

“You always announce visitors to your cat?” Hyle asked with an unfriendly smile. 

“He doesn't like to be surprised.” She bent and scooped him up in her arms and turned to let Hyle pet Duncan, but Hyle just nodded and pushed past into her living room, sitting down on her couch. 

“I don't need anything in my coffee,” he said, stretching his arms along the back. 

Brienne kissed Duncan and set him down, gently nudging him on with her foot when he pawed at her leg. He flicked his tail at her in annoyance at being summarily ignored and jumped up on the couch just out of reach of Hyle, curling his paws under him as he laid down to stare at the mirror. 

Duncan, Brienne had discovered, enjoyed staring at Jaime as much as she did. 

All she could do now was hope Duncan got bored and Jaime stayed in his room for another hour until Brienne and Hyle moved, hopefully, into hers. Her stomach was jumpy, so she made coffee only for Hyle, pouring a glass of water for herself before carrying them into the living room. Hyle was leaning forward, moving chess pieces around. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, a little too sharply. He jerked back like she'd slapped his hand. 

“Just looking at it, geeze.”

“I was in the middle of a game,” Brienne said, handing him his mug. 

“Who with, the cat?” Hyle laughed at his own joke, but Brienne just sat down next to him on the couch, frowning down at the board. At least Jaime had its replica in the mirror apartment. 

She twisted her head to look at Jaime's set, and saw him hovering in his hallway, watching them. Brienne put her arm on the couch as though she was snuggling with Hyle, and tried to wave Jaime off. 

He waved back and stayed where he was. 

“So,” Hyle said, dragging her attention back to him. She could _feel_ Jaime's presence in the mirror behind her, but she did her best to ignore him. “Tell me about yourself, Brienne. I know what you do for a living, obviously, and you play chess with your cat.” 

“I play chess with a friend,” she corrected him. 

Hyle rolled his eyes. “I was just making a joke, lighten up. What else do you do in your spare time? What turns Brienne Tarth on?” he said, dropping his voice to a low, sultry tone that she guessed would have been sexy if she weren't irritated. 

“I like old books,” she said. “Really old ones, from hundreds of years ago.” 

He looked at her, and she could see him trying to look interested and failing miserably. “Cool,” he said. “I like to work out.” Hyle rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, watching her from under his lashes as he did. It was a nice enough forearm, though she'd been exposed to Jaime's enough time the comparison didn't do Hyle any favors. 

Still. Hyle was here, and interested, and she could touch him, none of which were true for Jaime. 

Brienne put her glass down – on a coaster, and then slid a coaster under Hyle's mug, too – and then brushed her fingers along Hyle's exposed arm. 

“I can tell you do work out,” she said. She ignored the fact that her hand was bigger than his, and her arm more toned, and smiled at him. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Hey where's your bathroom? I've gotta take a leak.”

“Oh, uh, down the hall.” She pointed it to him and he stood, then bent down and kissed her cheek gently. 

“I want to be sure I'm ready for what comes next,” he murmured into her ear. His breath was acrid from the coffee. 

Once Hyle was safely away, Brienne turned to snap at Jaime, but found him, thankfully, gone. She wasn't disappointed when she turned back, folding her arms over her chest while she waited. 

There was a buzzing noise from the couch, and Brienne frowned, looking at it. It buzzed again, and when she shoved her hand down between the cushions, she found Hyle's phone, which must have slipped out of his pocket. She was about to set it down when it buzzed a third time, and she saw her own name on the message. 

**Bushy, Monkey, Ambrosia:** You think he's got Brienne's pants off yet?

Brienne's face went hot, and his phone buzzed again in her hand. 

**Bushy, Monkey, Ambrosia:** I bet he does. our man has been quiet  
 **Bushy, Monkey, Ambrosia:** she's gotta be sooooo desperate   
**Bushy, Monkey, Ambrosia:** Easiest money he'll ever make

The bathroom door opened, and Brienne looked up from the phone. Hyle was blurry through her tears. 

“Hey, baby,” he said, and then went still. “Is that my phone?”

“Your friends wanted to know what your status is,” Brienne said, and her voice was gratifyingly strong. “Do you have an ETA until you're done fucking me?”

Hyle's face twisted and he strode over, yanking the phone out of her hand. “Those are private messages!”

Brienne stood, towering over him and he took a stumbling step backward. “They're still shit, Hyle! It's not me knowing about them that makes you an asshole!”

“Listen, you don't know what you're talking about, whatever they said--”

“They said you're making money by having sex with me.

Hyle blanched, but he pressed on. “It's just a dumb bet. I was going to tell you. We can make it up and split the money.” 

“I'd rather report you to Tarly and let him deal with it.” 

“You think Tarly's going to take your side? You should hear what he calls you in the break room,” Hyle sneered, and all of Brienne's fight went out of her. Even Hyle, plain and boring and not that nice, believed he was too good for Brienne. 

She sat back down and buried her face in her hands. “Please go,” she said. 

“Are you gonna tell Tarly about this?”

“I don't know,” she sighed, scrunching her eyes closed. She didn't want to cry in front of him, too. He hadn't earned the right to her tears. 

“I'm not leaving until you say,” Hyle growled. 

“She asked you to leave,” Jaime said from behind Brienne. 

She gasped and looked up in time to see Hyle spin around, staring at her otherwise empty apartment. 

“Who said that? Do you have a roommate?” 

“Sort of,” Jaime said, and Brienne knew the second Hyle had found Jaime in the mirror by the way his face went entirely bloodless. “More of a friendly ghost situation,” Jaime said. He shoved his coffee table with his foot, and Brienne's went screeching across the floor, too. 

Hyle screeched in a good approximation of the sound. 

“But you're-- This isn't--” Hyle's eyes were nearly spinning in his head as he looked all around, desperate to find Jaime. “Ghosts aren't real.” 

“I think you'll find I'm quite real,” Jaime said, and this time he pulled the coffee table back, which yanked hers into Hyle's shin. 

That was enough. Hyle yelled and ran for the door, babbling unintelligently before the door slamming shut behind him cut him off. 

Jaime broke into loud, rolling laughter, and Brienne should probably have been angry, but she could only laugh, too, slightly hysterical, until tears rolled down her face and her laughs turned into barely choked back sobs. In the mirror, Jaime went quiet, moving closer. 

“He's not worth crying over,” he said, and she nodded, but the tears kept coming anyway. 

“I-it's not just him,” she managed. But though she knew the truth, she couldn't tell Jaime. It was bad enough he wasn't even in her universe; he didn't need to know how lonely she'd been before a storm had brought him into her life. 

Brienne took a shaky, stuttering breath, and heard Jaime sigh. 

“I wish I could touch you,” he said, his voice softer and sweeter than she'd ever heard it. “You look like you need a hug.” 

“I do,” she admitted. She tugged one of her throw pillows into her arms and clutched it to her chest. 

“What about Duncan?” 

Brienne looked around, but he'd run as soon as Hyle had yelled, and wasn't likely to come back out until he could be completely sure it was safe. “He's big, but he's a coward,” she said, sniffling. 

“Should have adopted a dog.” 

She smiled and leaned her head against the couch. “Thanks for stepping in, Jaime. I'm not used to someone having my back.” 

Jaime was quiet for a long time, and when she looked up to see if he was still there, she found him pressing his hand to the mirror, staring at her with eyes dark and intense as the storm that had brought him there. “Anytime,” he finally said, and though he couldn't touch her, she felt his presence anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

A few days later, Jaime waited anxiously for Brienne to get home from work. He'd been keeping an eye on her since the Hyle incident, and though she hadn't seemed unusually affected, he knew Monday had been rough on her, going back to work and seeing Hyle and his shitbird friends. 

The man was lucky Jaime could only touch furniture in Brienne's world, and not sharp objects like knives. 

When she'd come home tired and subdued on Tuesday, too, Jaime had lain awake late into the night coming up with a plan to cheer her up, and after bidding her farewell that morning as usual, he'd come right back to his apartment and called in sick to work. 

Then he'd unscrewed the bathroom cabinet mirror and moved it into the kitchen. When he looked through it, he could see Brienne's kitchen, too, instead of her shower and familiar bathroom walls, and Jaime grinned. Perfect. 

He spent the rest of the day opening their connected fridges and cupboards and hefting the mirror around so he could look into them, until he had a full accounting of what was there. Then with a diligence he had never even used in school, Jaime researched online, making notes and writing ideas, until he heard Brienne's door open and close. 

“I'm home,” she said. Duncan meowed in greeting and Jaime leapt from his desk to say hello. 

“Welcome back,” he said, and she gave him a tired smile. “Long day?”

“Not too long. You?”

“Longer than I wanted,” he said, which was true. It felt like it had been far more than nine hours since he'd seen her last. It felt like he'd been waiting a lifetime. 

“I'm gonna go take a shower,” she said, and Jaime decided to keep quiet, waiting to see when she noticed. He heard her walk back to her bedroom, and then the door of the bathroom closed, and almost immediately opened again. 

“What did you do with the mirror?” she demanded, her face and chest pink above her tightly-belted, fluffy blue bathrobe. 

“You look adorable,” Jaime said, and Brienne frowned so furiously at him he had to laugh. 

“Don't try to distract me. New rules: no major remodeling of our shared apartment without asking first.” 

“Minor remodeling at best,” Jaime said. “Go to the kitchen.” 

Brienne sighed, a long, melodramatic release of air that made him laugh again. 

“Just go to the kitchen, and stop being so dramatic,” he ordered. 

“I'm not being dramatic,” she pouted, stomping into the kitchen. He went into his, and waved at her shocked face. “We can move the mirrors?”

“We can move the mirrors,” he proudly confirmed. “We're gonna have dinner together.” 

Her cheeks flushed with a delightful spray of pink. “We've eaten at the same time before.”

“Sure, but not the same food. We can also open the drawers, look.” He pulled out the one nearest him, and Brienne gasped out loud when hers opened, too. “I have a recipe, and we're going to cook something we both have and then eat it together.” 

Brienne was growing redder by the second, flooding over her crooked nose, down her long neck and out to the curve of her ears. Jaime tamped down the desire to feel it, to taste the freckles along her chin, and turned his attention to his recipe. 

“We better get started, though, there's some chopping to do.” 

They worked side-by-side in their individual kitchens, moved their meal to the couches that Brienne turned to face the mirror, and they sat facing each other, but slightly shifted, so Jaime could pretend she was next to him and not a universe away.

* * *

Once they discovered that moving the bathroom mirror worked, they started to move it frequently. Jaime would carry it into the kitchen and they'd talk while they made meals. Brienne would move it to the study, and she'd show off her book collection, reading passages to Jaime while he sat in his own study and listened with rapt attention. 

Those were her favorite moments, when he seemed genuinely interested in listening to her, interjecting questions and opinions with a sly wit she was entirely too fond of. His study was filled with small artifacts that he told her he'd stolen from his family home. 

“They mostly belonged to my Uncle Gerion,” he explained one rainy Saturday afternoon. “He was always looking for some ultimate family heirloom. He swore at one point it was here in King's Landing before deciding it was in Essos instead, but he died before he found it.” 

“It sounds like you were close to him?”

“I don't know if we were close as much as I worshipped him. He was an architect for awhile, that's how I got into it.” Jaime shrugged, and Brienne admired the roll of his shoulders in his old t-shirt. It was easy to admire Jaime, not just for his physicality, but for his quick smiles and rich laughter. The Jaime who came home from work was always tense, barely held together by stress and expectation, but as soon as they started talking he would unwind for her, turning into her Jaime. 

But he wasn't hers at all. 

Two and a half months after the storm had brought them together, Brienne was playing with Duncan one Friday night when she heard Jaime's front door slam. 

“Brienne,” he called, urgent, and she climbed to her feet. “There you are. Listen, I need you to disappear for a bit. I've got someone coming over and I don't want her to see you.” 

“Oh,” she said. Jaime hadn't been on a date since his failed one two months ago, and Brienne had sworn off dating after Hyle, at least until she turned forty. By then maybe she'd find a man mature enough to overlook everything else. And if not, she really would become a cat lady. 

“I'm sorry for the late notice,” Jaime said, cleaning up his apartment. “She's an old friend, I didn't know she'd be in town.”

“Of course.” Brienne picked up Duncan and his toy and watched Jaime hurrying around for another minute. There was an eager energy to him that made her stomach roll, choppy and harsh as a ship in a storm. Whoever this woman was, Jaime was hoping for something more than just a talk. He glanced again at Brienne, and then pulled out a candle, lighting it. There was a knock at the door, and he turned to her expectantly. 

“I'll go,” she said. “I hope you have a good date.” She fled before he could respond, firmly shutting the door and wishing she'd insisted they move the TV into the bedrooms. She would need it, and he certainly would not. 

Brienne waited for hours in her room, listening to music and reading the same page of her book over and over, until she couldn't wait any longer. She quietly tiptoed to the bathroom, praying she wouldn't have to hear Jaime with his mystery woman. But it was quiet both when she entered and exited the bathroom, and she took a chance, shuffling silently to the end of the hall. It was dark in both of their apartments, except for the candle burning low on Jaime's coffee table. 

Jaime sat alone on the couch. She could only see the back of his head, so she waited for his date to come back out, but after five minutes there was still no movement. 

“Jaime,” she whispered, and his head lifted immediately. 

“She's not here,” he said. His voice was dull, distant in the dark. 

Brienne walked into her living room and knelt down on the couch, leaning over the back to watch him. “I'm sorry it didn't work out,” she said. “She doesn't know what she's missing.” 

His shoulders lifted a little on a dry chuckle. “No, she does. I asked her to leave.” 

“Why?” Brienne said, too fast and too loud and far too relieved. She bit her lip, but the word had already escaped. There was nothing to do but wait for Jaime to ignore it. 

“Because she wasn't you,” he said, and Brienne's heart stopped in her chest, suddenly too full to beat as it should. 

“Jaime,” she breathed. 

He exhaled, long and slow, and stood, coming around the couch to stand near the mirror. His face was drawn and lined; his eyes were hazy with despair. “I've known this woman for twenty years. I had a crush on her back in high school, and I thought she was what I had been waiting for all this time. Never feeling like there was the right person out there for me, never able to go on more than a few dates at most with someone. It was because I was waiting for her.” Jaime scoffed harshly. “I'm a fucking fool, Brienne. I wasn't waiting for her at all: I was waiting for you.” 

Her heart thudded hard and painfully in her chest, jolting her back to life, and Brienne joined Jaime at the mirror, a foot and a miracle away. “I wish I could touch you,” she whispered, pressing her hand to the mirror. He copied her, their hands aligning, but all she could feel was the cold glass against her palm. Jaime would be warm, she knew, if she could touch him. Warm and alive and she would never let go. 

“You can touch yourself,” he said, his voice loosing a dart of pure lust low in her belly. “While I watch. While you watch me.” 

Brienne was hot all over, immediate and electric as the storm that had started this. She tugged her lip with her teeth and nodded. 

It was a simple enough matter to move the mirror from the study to the bedroom, to watch Jaime undress and drink in all the lines of his body that she had been aching to see. It was less simple to undress in return, but he talked her through it, with the voice that had followed her around her house day after day, the voice she dreamed about having next to her at night. She knew the timbres and valleys of it as though they were painted on her soul. She felt it now, a caress on her bare skin as they both laid down in their beds. 

“You're all right?” he asked. 

She still could barely speak, but he shook his head at her silent nod. 

“I need to hear you, Brienne. Tell me you're all right. Tell me you want this.”

“I do,” she promised. “I want this. You. Please.” 

Jaime's exhale was ragged, but his directions were precise as a knife as he talked her through touching herself, laying out the map of how he would do it if he were there, until she was quivering and demanding. 

“Good,” he murmured when she whined low for more. “Talk to me, Brienne. Tell me what you want.” 

What she wanted was impossible, but her heart clamored for it constantly, the underlying soundtrack of her every day for weeks now. But there were things she could do here, if not with her hands then with her voice, she could savor the results with her eyes even as she wished for more. Her first commands were stuttered and soft, but the more she talked, the more Jaime's chest expanded with his every needy gasp, the faster his hand moved on himself, the easier it became, until she couldn't talk at all and neither could he. Just her name, and his, exchanged across the room and the all the space and time they couldn't breach, sharing their lives and their hearts and their bodies, without ever being next to each other at all. 

“ _Please_ ,” she whimpered just before she tipped over the edge into the lightning. But she knew what she was truly begging for was impossible. Jaime would forever be close and always too far. No matter how hard they both wished, Jaime would never be hers.

* * *

It was difficult to even look at Brienne the next day. 

Not out of embarrassment – Jaime had done plenty of things in his life he wasn't proud of, but falling in love with Brienne, watching her come apart with a songbird's cry, was not one of them. He couldn't look at her because it only made him want more: more of her laughter, more of the serious lines that formed between her brows, more of all of her pale, freckled skin sweaty and flushed because of him. 

But all he had was a window into her life and the glass that kept him from sharing it fully. 

He didn't see how everyone wasn't in love with her. One afternoon listening to her talk passionately about her books and she'd charm any person out there, even that useless douchebag Hyle. Jaime had had a bounty of afternoons, weeks of nighttimes spent working and eating together, mornings talking about the similarities of their parallel worlds. They'd stopped talking about the differences awhile ago, in part because the constant reminder of the distance was too much, but also because the ways their worlds differed – the fact that their families had never existed at all – made both of them too sad. 

A week after his admission, Jaime was drunk and up far too late, staring at the mirror with a seething, bitter hatred. It taunted him, showing him everything he wanted and still holding it out of reach, like a cosmic bully. 

Jaime had never let bullies get the best of Tyrion, and he wasn't about to let this one get the best of him. He leapt to his feet, looking around for something heavy. 

“The only way out is through,” he chanted under his breath, until he found a heavy silver paperweight on his desk. He hefted it in his hand and stared at the mirror. If it crashed through, it could take him into Brienne's world, or bring her to him. If the mirror completely shattered, it might cut her off from him for good. 

Jaime pulled back his arm to throw when Duncan meowed aggressively from Brienne's apartment. 

“What do you want, you hairy pest?” Jaime growled, his hand dropping to his side. 

“Mrowr.” 

“Fuck off,” Jaime said, but he dropped the paperweight to the ground and fell back onto the couch. The chance of losing Brienne, even this reflected version of her, was too great to risk on a wild gamble. But if this went on much longer, Jaime wasn't sure he would be able to resist trying.

* * *

Nearly three months after the storm that brought them together, Brienne came home early in the middle of the week, exhausted after a long day when a favorite client had been let go, hungry since she'd missed lunch fighting for the woman to stay, and sad that the person she had come to rely on to talk to about her worries had pulled so thoroughly away. 

After the night in their bedrooms, they had fallen asleep across from each other, but when she woke, the mirror was gone, tucked back in the study, where it stayed permanently.

“Was that okay?” Brienne had asked over breakfast that morning, and Jaime had laughed so bitter and hurt it had cracked her heart a little further open. 

“It was almost perfect. And I'm too weak to handle the almost,” he'd said. Brienne wasn't sure she was strong enough to ignore the perfect, but they set to it, and didn't bring up moving the mirror again. 

She and Jaime still had meals together, but Brienne had never felt the distance between them as deeply as she had in the last couple of weeks, while they both shored up their hearts against the flood. Brienne knew she'd never succeed, but she had to try, for herself and for him. 

Jaime had retreated back behind the snarky wall of their first week, there but not at her side. It seemed he was always across from her, no matter which way she tilted the mirror. 

It was a relief to come home to their two empty apartments today, Duncan sleeping peacefully on the couch. Brienne had been an idealistic fool about many things in her life, but falling in love with a man literally a universe away had to be at the top, and she needed space to think about it without Jaime hovering at the edge of her every thought. 

She set her things down and wandered into her kitchen to make some food. A storm had brought them together, something as powerful as a hurricane that had done no damage at all and no one else had felt the effects of. She had no idea what called the storm, or if it would ever return to take Jaime away again. For all she knew, he could disappear tonight, back into a place she couldn't even see. 

Brienne gripped the counter, her fingers aching with the pressure, her blood rushing loud in her ears. It was terrible to love someone so near and so far, but worse still to lose them forever. They had to figure out what had happened, if not to solve the most obvious problem, then to ensure they didn't have another, worse one waiting in the wings. 

The problem was, Brienne had already exhausted the entirety of her internet sleuthing skills, and unless she wanted to get a phD in quantum physics, the chances of even understanding what was going on, let alone controlling it, were slim at best. 

But _something_ had brought them together, and if it could happen once, surely they could make it happen again, this time in their favor. 

Brienne took her sandwich back out to the living room and saw Duncan staring, mesmerized, at the mirror. “What is it, buddy?” she asked, and then she heard a wild scream from Jaime's apartment. 

Spinning, Brienne was ready to run to the mirror, but the source of the scream was immediately apparent: a small, black-and-blond haired man with his hands curled into tight fists at his sides. 

Jaime came barreling out of his back hallway, half-dressed but ready to fight. “What is it?” he shouted, before stumbling to a halt when he saw where the other man was staring. 

“It's a ghost,” the man said, and Brienne recognized his voice from before. It was Jaime's brother, Tyrion. 

“She's not,” Jaime said. “And you don't have to be afraid.” 

“But that's your apartment. She's in your apartment there and not here.” He was trembling all over, and his voice was a hoarse whisper. 

“Not exactly,” Jaime said, laying his hand gently on his brother's shoulder. Tyrion jumped anyway, and then grabbed Jaime's hand with both of his. 

“We need a septon. An exorcism. Fucking holy water from the north, whatever it is.” 

“We don't need any of those things. Sit down, and I'll explain it.” Brienne watched Jaime firmly steer Tyrion to the armchair and just as firmly urge him to sit. “Wait here while I get you a drink first,” Jaime said. 

Brienne didn't know what to do, so she stood still, watching Tyrion staring at the spot in Jaime's apartment that she should be standing in. Occasionally his eyes would flicker her way, but they always darted back immediately, as though looking at her hurt him. 

Jaime shoved a glass of amber liquid into Tyrion's hands and helped him maneuver it to his brother's lips. When Tyrion showed no sign of interest in actually drinking, Jaime sat back on his heels. 

“Look, even if she is a ghost, she's obviously a friendly one. She would have had plenty of time to disembowel you or whatever you think is happening here. Now drink up and then I can explain.” 

Somehow that worked on Tyrion, and he gulped down the alcohol and took a deep, steadying breath. “All right,” he said, his gaze locked on Jaime's face. “Tell me everything.” 

Jaime did, of the unexplainable storm and their sudden connection, of the way they could move furniture but couldn't touch. He didn't talk about their relationship, but that was for the best. It was too uncertain, too precious and fragile, to share with anyone else. 

And it wasn't like Brienne knew what it was herself. 

While Jaime was talking, Brienne slowly moved to sit on the couch, keeping her eyes on the brothers. By the time he was done, Tyrion was looking at her, still with some fear, but mostly with familiar green eyes bright and curious. 

“So you're real,” he said to Brienne, and she nodded. 

“In my world, yes.”

“You can hear me and see me?”

“As long as you're within line of sight of this mirror or the other one, yes.”

Tyrion frowned. “What other one?”

“It's in the study right now,” Jaime said. “It came with the place, so when I moved it from the bathroom, hers did, too. Anything we brought doesn't transfer. 

“Windows?” Tyrion asked. “Doors?”

They stared at each other. “No, actually,” Jaime said. “Cupboards and furniture, yes. None of the doors. That's odd.”

It was, and neither of them had noticed it at all. 

“We need to find out when everything was installed and in what order. But that should be easy enough, given who designed and oversaw the construction of this building.” Tyrion was smirking now, a bitter, triumphant twist of his lips that reminded her of Jaime when they'd first met. His eyes had none of Jaime's softness, though. 

“It's impossible to get records like that, they could be anywhere,” Jaime said. 

“I know exactly where they are, and so should you.” Tyrion searched his brother's face, and then his mouth fell open in a laugh much bigger than his body. “You have no idea who built the Red Keep Apartments, do you?” 

“Stop with your games, Tyrion, and tell us. Who was it? Where can we get the information?” 

“Right from under dear old dad: this is Uncle Gerion's last building.”

* * *

Jaime rocked backwards in shock. “That's impossible. He was building in Essos when he died. He'd been there well before this was started.” 

“He wasn't,” Tyrion said. “This is why I'm the better Lannister, Jaime, I pay more attention to the family secrets.” 

Jaime glowered at him, but it was lost in the face of Tyrion's glee at having knowledge his big brother didn't. 

“Uncle Gerion went to Essos, it's true, but when Father got the call to design these apartments, he knew Gerion was the best man for the job. Paid an exorbitant sum to get him to come back, and promised that he'd let Gerion do as much excavating as he pleased around the grounds first to find Brightroar. Of course, Father didn't entirely keep that promise, rushing Gerion to get started before he'd fully examined everything. When it was all done, Gerion left again and never returned.”

“Wait,” Brienne said from her side. She'd climbed over the couch and was standing very close to the mirror, her pale brows furrowed in concentration. “What did you say he was looking for?”

“Brightroar,” Tyrion said. “The Lannister family sword.” 

“Brightroar,” Brienne murmured. She turned suddenly on her heel and disappeared into her study. 

“What's wrong with her?”

“I don't know,” Jaime admitted. “But we can find out easily enough.” He led Tyrion back to his own study, where they'd left the cabinet mirror last. Brienne was muttering fast and quietly to herself, scanning the shelves before grabbing a book, flipping quickly through it, and then shoving it back again. 

“I'm afraid your girlfriend might be going a bit mad,” Tyrion said, sounding far too cheerful. 

“She's not my girlfriend,” Jaime protested, though it was only due to a technicality. If he could have reached out and pulled her near, he would have weeks ago. 

“Here!” Brienne shouted, startling the two Lannisters. She turned to the mirror, her body shining with triumph. “I found it.” 

“It's certainly a book,” Tyrion said dryly, and Jaime nudged him with his elbow. 

“It is. A book about Houses of Westeros and ancient artifacts. The Lannisters don't exist in this world, which means your Uncle Gerion didn't build these apartments. But _my_ Uncle Endrew did.”

“All right,” Jaime said slowly, “but what does that have to do with Brightroar?”

“Brightroar also doesn't exist here, but the Tarths have their own weapon.” She flipped the pages of the old book carefully, and then turned it around showing it to them. There was a hand-drawn illustration of a sword that covered two pages, the middle cracked by the valley of the book. “This is the Tarth family sword: Bright _star_. It's also never been found, but I know my Uncle was obsessed with doing so. He died in the north, having never found it.” 

“So there are shocking similarities between our families, what does it matter?” Tyrion asked. 

“That has to be why the storm happened. I had just moved in that day, and my coming here, to the exact same apartment Jaime lived in, with the missing family sword and the connected uncle, must have sparked all of this.” 

“Do you think Brightroar is here in the building? Is this all to find some magic sword?” Jaime said, trying to piece the whole picture together without getting his hopes up too high. Could it be as simple as finding the one artifact that his uncle never could? One that must be somewhere on the grounds where Gerion had never looked. At least it couldn't possibly be in the basement, they'd had to have excavated that in order to build the supports. 

“I do,” Brienne said. “The book says Brightstar was lost in King's Landing, though it's wielder went on to the north. I imagine it's the same for Brightroar as well. And you have the map where to find yours. Or, your company does.” 

Jaime glanced at the nearest clock. It was barely even five. Tyrion had whisked Jaime off to a late lunch – “to lift your spirits, dear brother,” he'd said; “you've been in a supremely bad mood even for you the last two weeks” – and instead of trying to go back to work after, they'd just come back here. Jaime hadn't expected Brienne to be home for another hour at least. 

“Tyrion,” Jaime said, standing up from where he'd been kneeling at his brother's side. “Go get the blueprints and whatever notes we have from Gerion on this land. Brienne and I will gather tools for digging.”

“Should she have her blueprints, too?”

Brienne shook her head. “They'll be the same spot, I'm sure of it. Besides, I don't know what became of my uncle's notes. If you know where Gerion's notes are, you need to get them.” 

“I suppose you're lucky that I'm nosy,” Tyrion muttered. “Very well. I want to see if this pans out the way you think it will. We'll reconvene tomorrow, though. I'm too drunk and my legs hurt too much to stumble through it tonight.” 

Jaime huffed, but one more day wasn't going to make a difference, and the wait would be worth it if it brought Brienne into his world, or even if it took him into hers instead. 

With one last mumbled aside about ungratefulness, Tyrion left Jaime and Brienne alone in the study. 

“You really think finding this sword will work?” he asked, settling into his chair. 

“I do,” she said. “I have to.” 

“It could end it all, you know. Shut down whatever's happening here instead of bringing us together.”

She stared plaintively at him, and he touched the mirror where her cheek was, stroking the smooth surface and yearning for her with every part of himself. 

“Can you go on like this for the rest of our lives?” she asked in a rasp coiled with desperation. 

Brienne sat tense in her chair, cradling the book in her lap with her gentle hands. Jaime had watched those hands tenderly turning the pages of books much older than even that one; watched them brush Duncan with long, soothing strokes while the cat preened and purred. Jaime wanted to feel those careful hands on himself, wanted to put his on her in return, and he'd dig up the entire damned building to do it.

* * *

Ultimately, they had only to dig up a far part of the grounds. Tyrion delivered the documents and a small notebook to Jaime, and then left the two of them to pore over them together through the mirror, looking for clues. 

They stumbled on it at the same time, between a less-detailed part of the blueprints and an irate entry in Gerion's journal about Jaime's father, Tywin, stepping in and shutting him down. They made a plan to dig in their individual world's marked corners, looking for anything that could be the sword. 

“What if we find it and we disappear?” Brienne said just as they were ready to go. 

“That wont happen,” Jaime said firmly. 

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I won't let it.” 

She flushed, but it was impossible not to believe him with the conviction running like a steel beam in his tone. 

Brienne tried not to think about kissing him goodbye, and instead she watched him leave, before following in her own world shortly after. 

The plan was simple: both of them would dig in the identified spot, and when they found whatever was hiding there, they'd return immediately to their apartments to wait for the other person. Brienne dug with a fury she didn't know she was capable of, desperate to find the key that would bring their worlds together. A foot down, she hit something small and hard and protective, and she clutched it to her chest and rushed back to the building and the mirror. 

When she arrived, Jaime was already there, a similar looking metal tube on his tabletop. She would have thought nothing of either of them at first sight, but as she studied hers in the light, there were intricate inlaid designs, symbols she recognized from the Tarth House sigil. 

“Show me yours,” she said, and Jaime gave her a sly grin that eased back some of her anxious nerves. They had both studiously avoided seeing each other naked except for that one night, and she regretted it now that Jaime might be taken from her. She regretted a lot of things, but she didn't say them out loud and – for once – neither did he. He just held his case up to the mirror and turned it slowly at her command. The symbols were unfamiliar to her: lions, mostly, in various positions. 

“Do these mean anything to you?” she asked, glancing up. His face was so close she could see the faint crow's feet at his eyes, the slight emergence of stubble along his chin. The dim wetness of his lips when he licked them in concentration. 

“The Lannister sigil,” he informed her, and Brienne forced herself to focus. “There are lions all over every Lannister property in Westeros. Whatever this thing is, it's ours.” 

They examined their tubes, discovered an old seal on both that cracked open with alarming ease, and they stared at each other when they tipped the tubes down and a tightly rolled scroll slipped out of each. 

“You go first,” he said. “I don't want to mess mine up.” 

Brienne unrolled it with shaking hands, discovered it was really half a scroll, ripped neatly in two down the middle. She could read it, though – it was in old Westerosi. Jaime's had to be the other half. 

She talked him through opening his own, and he was gentle with the fragile paper, the way he'd been gentle with her when she needed it. He frowned down at the words. 

“I'm not sure this makes sense.”

“Hold it up,” she said, and it was the match to her half. She had him press it up against his mirror, slid hers to meet it, and read the inscription. There wasn't much. 

“ _One hundred years will flow like rain / before the sword returns again / when the two are forged as one / the oath is kept, the trial is done / three moon turns is all thy_ \- you,” she amended, “ _are spared / to find the heart that needs repair / discover it 'fore light has departed / or_ \--” She gasped, the last of the words caught in her throat. 

“Discover the heart or what?” Jaime said urgently. “Brienne, what does it say?”

“Discover it 'fore light has departed,” she murmured, “or the worlds will once more be parted. That's it.”

Jaime pulled his paper back and glared at it. “Well what the fuck does that mean? Three moon turns? The heart that needs repair? What do we do with any of that?” 

“It means the storm is coming back, Jaime. And if we don't find whatever this is, this portal or whatever it is will be gone.” 

“When? Three moon turns, that sounds like months. Do they mean three months from the storm?”

She nodded, and she watched him calculate what she already knew. 

“Brienne, that's--”

“I know,” she said softly. “It's tomorrow.”

* * *

In the end, they couldn't figure it out. They both stayed up all night, scouring their apartments for anything that could be a heart. There was a necklace from Brienne's mother that was whole and unblemished, a paper cutout Jaime had gotten from Tyrion as a child that had a small rip that he carefully taped up. They looked for every heart and heart-shaped item they could, and none of it changed anything. The sun went down, it rose again, and started once more to set, and they were exhausted and delirious and utterly defeated. 

“Brienne,” Jaime said as she went through another book, rubbing at her eyes after having been at it so long. “Stop.” 

“It's got to be here,” she insisted. “You don't just drop a prophecy somewhere without giving some clues. Fuck, we should have emailed Tyrion. I bet he knows.”

Jaime shook his head, and wished for the thousandth time he could skim his palms down her arms, take her anxiously twisting hands in his own. “He won't know. There is no answer. We missed our chance.” 

“But we're so close,” she cried, and then bit her lip. 

“I don't want to end it this way,” he said. “Please, just put the book down and talk to me.” 

She closed the book and set it down on her little table, and he scanned the room, soaking in every detail. 

“Wait, I have an idea,” he said. “Stay there.” 

Jaime ran to get his phone and held it up. “I'll take a picture of you, and you take one of me. Maybe the photos will last.” 

She made a noise of disbelief, but did as he asked, and they took photos of each other through the mirrors. He made her pick up Duncan and took a picture of the cat, too. 

“You'll miss me, won't you?” he crooned to the cat, who stared at him with his big, yellow eyes. 

“I will,” Brienne said softly. “Jaime, I'll miss you so much.” 

He swallowed hard, his eyes burning. “I won't have a chance to miss you,” he said roughly, “I'll dream about you every night.” 

They talked until the sun was gone, and then moved the mirror into their bedrooms, laid down and watched each other in the dim light of their bedside lamps. 

“We need to stay awake,” Brienne said, yawning wide. 

“We should sleep. You're exhausted, and so am I.”

“I'm scared, not tired.” 

Jaime sighed. “Me, too.” He stared at her, through the insurmountable gap between them. Her eyes were drooping, her hair curled a little against her forehead. She looked peaceful, almost, as sleep overtook her against her will. Brave, certainly. He admired her intensely, her unfailing kindness and hope, the way she glowed when she was happy, the care with which she lived her quiet life. Jaime hadn't seen her anywhere but this apartment, but he didn't need to. He knew her, down to her soul. 

He had lied, earlier, to them both: he would miss her with every beat of his heart for the rest of his life.

* * *

Brienne woke with the storm. This time, instead of being afraid, she was angry, and impatient for it to end. The thunder ricocheted around the room, in the very depths of her skull, but she fought through it to look into the mirror in her bedroom. It was dark and the power was out, but she saw Jaime staring back at her, his mouth open as he tried to yell over the noise. 

“I love you!” she yelled, desperate for him to hear her, but the thunder was relentless, a growl and then a scream, until she had to put her hands to her head and squeeze her eyes shut. It was quiet for half a breath, and then the light burned through her.

* * *

When the light died out, Jaime didn't even spare time to breathe, he scrambled up and stared at the mirror in his bedroom. 

His own face stared back, wild-eyed and twisted with agony. 

“No,” he murmured. He ran to the front room, but the only person in the mirror on the wall was himself. “No. Fuck.” 

Jaime went to it, touched and pressed and shoved his hand against the glass, but nothing gave, there was no sign of Brienne or her world or even her cat. Just himself, and his own harsh breathing. 

“Dammit!” he cursed, dragging his hands through his hair. In the study, even the metal case and the scroll it had held were gone. On his phone, the pictures he'd taken had been erased, and he slammed his fist against the wall in fury. The storm had given and then taken everything from him. 

He grabbed the nearest heavy object and stalked into the living room, hurling it at the mirror. The glass shattered, collapsing to the ground with a crash. 

“Hey!” one of his neighbors yelled, but Jaime didn't care. She had been so close, and he had lost her, because of some fucking prophecy they hadn't even known about until it was too late. 

The chair was in her position, and he angrily shoved it back into his, then sat on the couch, staring at it for the rest of the day, willing it to move back. It never did. 

The sun was low on the horizon when he leaned his head back on the couch and started to accept that Brienne was truly gone. He rose to his feet and went to get a broom and dustpan to start cleaning up the shards of glass, was halfway to the closet when there was a tentative knock on his door. His neighbor, probably, checking on him, after his explosion from this morning. 

Jaime sighed and opened the door. 

“Hi,” Brienne said, tall and wide and breathtaking. She bit her lip nervously. “This is going to seem like a weird question, but: do you know me?”

“Brienne,” he said on an exhale. 

Her face split with a huge, trembling smile. “You remember me. I'm sorry it took me so long to get here, I ended up at my old place.” There was an angry meow from her feet, and when Jaime looked down, there was Duncan peering back up at him from his carrier. “I guess you got the apartment,” she went on, and he looked back up at her beloved face. 

“I told you, I was here first,” he said. He was aching to touch her – and terrified she'd dissipate if he did. “You're here. In my world.” 

“There are no Tarths in your world.”

“There are no Lannisters in yours,” he told her. 

“Exactly.”

Jaime frowned. “So, what – we're somewhere else entirely?”

“We are.” She waved her phone at him. “I checked. This is somewhere where there are Lannisters _and_ Tarths.”

“The best of all worlds,” he said, grinning. 

She returned it, briefly, and then held out a long burlap sack wrapped around what had to be a sword. 

“You got the apartment, but I got this. Though I think it might be yours,” she said, unwrapping it carefully. The sword didn't look like either of their pictures, but a meld of the two: a dark steel blade swirled with red, the lion's head pommel adorned with rubies, the scabbard decorated with suns. “Oathkeeper.”

“Its not mine,” he said. “But you are.” 

She nodded, her face shining. "I am yours," she agreed. "And you are mine." 

Jaime pulled her into the apartment, and Brienne pulled him into her arms, and they didn't let go all night.


End file.
